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Port of San Julian. Winter Quarters. June 4, 1520.

We have seen the natives themselves at last. We were aboard our ships when a man appeared on the beach. The Captain ordered some of our people to go ashore in a boat and try to establish friendly relations with him. The man allowed himself to be brought to the small island where Magellan had landed. The native seemed greatly surprised to see us and pointed to the sky. We took this to mean that he believed we had descended from Heaven.

This man was quite tall and of handsome appearance. His face was broad and painted red, except for a rim of yellow round his eyes and two spots, shaped like hearts, on his cheeks. He was dressed warmly in the skins of some local animal, which we were later shown. This animal(1) has the head and ears of a mule, the body of a camel, the legs of a stag, and the tail of a horse. Such strange creatures live in this land! The man also wore a sort of shoe that was wrapped in fur, which was used as protection from the cold. These shoes created the large footprints we had believed belonged to a race of giants. He also carried a short bow strung with the intestines of that same animal. In his other hand, he held arrows made of short reeds, with feathers at one end (similar to ours) and at the other, instead of iron, a piece of white-and-black flint.

The Captain gave him food and drink, along with many trinkets. Little bells, a small looking glass, a comb, and some glass beads were among the gifts. After this, he was set back on shore, accompanied by four well-armed men.

More of his people appeared when they saw him return. They were brought aboard and invited to stay in the vicinity of our ships. They have divided themselves into two parties, one on each side of the port, and they provide us with diversions by singing and dancing.

When I traveled to the Cuba with Gomez and his troops, I met for the first time people from this New World. I didn't know one of them would change my life.

Cuba 1517-1518.

I expected everyday in Seville to receive some word of Ayala that would prove damaging to me, but to my surprise there was nothing. I was relieved yet confused. She didn't seem to be one who would not take revenge.

These thoughts however were soon replaced when we were on the ocean. I hadn't been on a ship since before death of my father. I was surprised how at home I felt on the waves, even after all that time.

After a short passage, we arrived at our destination, Baracoa. Gomez reported to Governor Diego Velásquez from whom we learned that our mission in Cuba had changed. Our purpose originally was to bolster defenses and make the Spanish settlements more secure. But the natives Indians of the islands were staging a revolt and we were called to active duty.

The Governor ordered Gomez to lead a campaign against the rebels and crush them. I knew Gomez was a good officer, but also was only too aware that he had never lead troops into battle before. The stress on him was very great and he spent the next week desperately trying to come up with a plan. When he did it was daring, unconventional and could either bring a brilliant victory or a disastrous defeat. In my mind, it depended as much on luck as it did on skill. Not one to remain silent, I voiced my concerns to Gomez.

"Señor, this plan is dangerous. We are as likely to harm friends as foes. The natives know the terrain better than any in the army, especially those that have only been here for a week."

"I believe these savages will be easily defeated," Gomez countered, arrogantly. "They will not expect an attack of this nature and will have no way to defend against it. We will triumph, there is no doubt."

I could only hope, for our sakes, that he was right.

The Governor approved of the plan and final preparations were completed. I don't believe that I am a coward, but I admit I was afraid. I don't see how any sane man couldn't be in that situation. I was about to engage in battle against an unknown foe under the command of an untried officer whose plan was reckless and yet bold enough to succeed. As I watched the sun set that night I couldn't help but wonder if it would be the last one I ever saw.

-----

Gomez planned a night attack on a village which we knew from the information of a spy was harboring the rebels. We approached with all possible caution and took our positions, waiting for Gomez's signal. He fired a single pistol shot in the air and we charged the native settlement.

From the beginning, things didn't go as planned. Although we did indeed have the element of surprise, the rebels, like anyone who is cornered with no chance of escape, fought like demons. Gomez was knocked from his horse and we ended up fighting back to back. Fires set by our own men to burn the village huts were helping the rebels as much as us. And it also enraged them. We were now on the defensive, trying to keep from being overrun. Gomez somehow managed to reform our lines and lead another charge.

We forced the natives back, but in the process I was separated from the rest of our soldiers. Casting about for my comrades, I was confronted by a large man. My drawn sword was knocked from my hand before I knew he was there. We fought each other hand to hand and I soon found that I wasn't going to win. The rebel was stronger than I and was a far more skilled physical warrior than I. He managed to knock me to the ground and his hands closed around my throat. Starved for air, I was just beginning to think Toledo and Ayala would have been a better choice for me, when I felt the iron grip around my neck loosen. The man I had been battling fell dead beside me. I looked up, expecting to see one of my companions, but was astounded when I beheld in the light of the blazing fires the face of an Indian, dressed in Spanish clothing, standing over me with a drawn and bloody knife. He offered me his hand and I was pulled to my feet.

"Hurry, we don't have much time," he said in near perfect Spanish.

I don't know why I followed him. Maybe I was just curious, but after I retrieved my fallen sword, I found myself crashing through the brush after him.

"Do you mind telling me where we are going? The battle is back the other way," I said after a few moments.

"Your friends have already subdued the rebels, but victory will still escape if you don't be silent," he answered in a harsh whisper.

I was taken aback by the way he answered me. His excellent Spanish was laced with a disrespectful tone. Strange if he was what I took him to be, a slave. I must admit that I became even more curious. Who was this man? And why would victory still escape if Gomez had forced the rebels to surrender?

We had circled around the village and were in an area almost untouched by the violence. The Indian slowed his pace and took great stealth in his approach. I felt it was prudent to do likewise and we crept silently to where I could hear hushed voices. Although I didn't understand the language, I could tell they were arguing. In the shadows I could see the forms of two crouching figures. They seemed to reach a sort of agreement as we silently moved closer. They had just stood up when my companion rushed foreword and felled one of them with a single blow. I put my sword to the others throat and he surrendered without any further struggle.

"Who are these men and why was it so vital that we capture them?" I asked.

"This," my strange savior replied, pointing to the man whom I held at bay with my sword, "is the leader of this rebellion."

I was stunned. Victory would have indeed been lost if he had escaped.

A short distance away, I heard the sounds of Gomez's soldiers coming in our direction.

"Well done, Mendoza," I heard the lieutenant's voice come to me out of the darkness. He and several soldier surrounded us.

"It wasn't all my doing, sir," I said turning to acknowledge my companion, but found he had disappeared into the darkness.

-----

We marched the remaining rebels and villagers back to Baracoa and Gomez reported to the Governor as soon as we entered the fort. He took all the credit for the victory and was promoted to the rank of captain on the spot. I was surprised when he didn't mention that I had been responsible, in part, for the capture of the leader of the rebellion. I couldn't help but hear Ayala's words, "You are nothing to him but a tool, a means to further his own career. And if you don't see this...then perhaps you are a fool, too."

The following night, the rebels were burned to death. Everyone was required to witness it and I was no exception. Just before lighting the fire, a priest offered the leader of the rebellion spiritual comfort, showing him the cross and asking him to accept Jesus and go to heaven. "Are there people like you in heaven?" the leader asked.

"There are many like me in heaven," answered the priest.

The leader then said, "I want nothing to do with a God that would allow such cruelty to be unleashed in his name."(2)

In the months that followed, I could not help but to begin to understand what he meant as I saw how the people of the island had been enslaved and forced to work until they died. I spent too many years little better than a slave myself not to sympathize with their plight.

-----

That same night, Gomez sent for me and when I found him he was with the Indian who had saved my life.

"This slave, José, has brought a message from a friend of mine, Quentín Gamboa who is commander of the garrison at Santiago de Cuba. Gamboa is asking the Governor for more soldiers and, as the immediate threat has been dispatched here, the Governor has agreed to send us to him. Tell the men to be prepared. We march in a week."

Dismissed, I waited until the slave, to whom I owed my life, was also allowed to leave as well and confronted him. "Why did you help me? Help us? You betrayed your own people."

He stared at me in silence. I was about to repeat myself when he replied, "They are not my people. I did what I thought was best for them," he said flatly. "They had no chance of defeating you Spaniards. And if they convince other villages to join them, it would make it legal, according to your laws, for them to be taken as slaves. I hoped to save them. By stopping their leader, maybe I could save the people." His voice shook with emotion as he said this.

"What do you mean they aren't your people?"

"I was taken as a slave a few months ago when the Governor was searching the mainland, west of here."

"How is it that you know Spanish, if you have only been a slave for a few months?"

"Almost two years ago," José said, "a shipwrecked Spaniard appeared in my village and it was from him that I learned your language. I was traveling to another city when the Governor's men found me. I made the foolish mistake of speaking to them and your captain's friend, Gamboa, took me as his slave. I was brought to this island and baptized with the name José. I haven't seen my home since. And now your people plan to invade my country."

In the coming months, I learned a lot from the slave known as José. In spite of, or perhaps because of our differences, we started to become friends. I found his perspective on life to be different than any I had ever known.

-----

Just as Gomez ordered, we marched for Santiago de Cuba in a week and José led the way.

Gamboa met us with the Alcalde of the settlement. Gamboa said the Alcalde's name was Hernán Cortés. It was this man who was planning to sail to the mainland where, rumors had it, a great civilization flourished.

Our life and duties in Santiago de Cuba were ordinary and routine. Months passed with nothing to cause excitement as there were no more rebellions or problems of any kind. We were masters of the island.

Sometimes, I would join our men or the sailors in the dock tavern to hear the latest rumors and stories. Because of this I soon became aware that Cortés was not the only one interested in the land to the west. Gamboa had also sought the Governor's approval to lead an expedition, but Cortés was the favorite. Ever since the two men had not gotten along.

One of the men's favorite tales was about El Dorado and the City of Gold. I have heard it often since then and it has never ceased to fascinate me.

The first night I heard it was after a long, hot day when even Gomez was willing to take a drink in the tavern. An old sailor began the tale and, almost at once, all other conversations were hushed. "The City of Gold exists some where on the land to the west. The houses are gold, the roads are gold. Even the poor of the city have gold. It is so common that the wealthy won't use it."

"If they don't want it, I will gladly take it off their hands!" someone from the crowd called.

Everyone laughed and went back to their own talk. Everyone, that is, except Gomez. He stared into space, his mind clearly still thinking of the marvelous fabled city.

I couldn't help but ask, "Dreaming of the Golden City, Gomez?"

Startled out of his reverie, he laughed. "Why would I need the Cities of Gold? I have a beautiful wife who is as rich as Midas. What more do I need?"

I sobered at the thought of Ayala. "What more indeed."

-----

Time passed. To alleviate the boredom, Gomez and I would engage in a test of our skills with a sword. I had the natural talent, but he was far more experienced and we each won our fair share of battles.

Nearly a month after the discussion of the Cities of Gold, Gomez was late for our match. This was so unlike him that I went searching for him. I learned from the garrison that he was in his room and had been there since the previous evening. Afraid that some accident might have befallen him, I immediately went to his quarters and knocked loudly upon door.

No answer.

I knocked again and was about to force my way into the room when I hear him dully say, "Enter."

He was standing next to the room's small window, holding a piece of crumpled paper in his hand.

"Captain," I said, concerned, "is something wrong? The men say you haven't left your room since yesterday." He didn't turn to face me or acknowledge me in any way. "Captain, what is it?"

"She is dead, Mendoza," he stated simply.

I didn't understand. I was about to ask whom he was speaking of...when it struck me. Ayala. Only Ayala could have put him in such a state. "Gomez, not..."

"Yes," he said bitterly. He tossed the paper towards me. "Read it for yourself."

I picked up the fallen page. It was a letter from Ayala's father, Alfonso Pedroza. It stated briefly, and coldly, that Ayala had been murdered. Murdered in the arms of her lover by the servant who had always been so possessive of her. Even I, knowing her character, was shocked. The paper further stated that because his daughter had died without an heir, the marriage agreement had not been fulfilled and the fortune Gomez had acquired through her was no longer his.

"I have lost my wife, my fortune and my reputation," Gomez said. I believe he was speaking to himself and not to me. "Everything is gone. Everything."

"Gomez, I..." I didn't know what to say even if he had let me finish.

"Say nothing," he turned on me. And I saw it in his eyes. Rage, sorrow, and suspicion.

I knew what he was thinking and in that moment words failed me. I could say nothing in my defense. I was innocent, but I could see he already thought me to be guilty. And nothing I could say would change that. I left without uttering a sound, leaving the Captain alone with his grief.

-----

Another month passed and nothing more was said yet Gomez and I were no longer friends. Only commanding officer and soldier. I no longer had any power and was humiliated by having to serve ordinary guard duty, something I had never had to do before.

It was just around that time that a crime was discovered by Cortés's accountants. Some person or persons had been stealing from the King's storehouse and the Alcalde was determined to discover whom. He kept this information to himself and ordered his clerks to remain silent, in hopes he would catch the thief. Any theft would be his responsibility to account for to both the Governor and the King. Such a loss could even jeopardize his expedition and Cortés wouldn't allow that. He quietly ordered more soldiers to guard the treasure house and, unbeknownst to anyone, set his trap.

And, as fate would have it, I was there when the trap was sprung.

-----

I was stationed as a guard of the King's storehouse on a night that was dark, the moon being hidden behind thick yet fast moving clouds. A sudden commotion from the other side of the building drew my attention and I ran towards the noise. By the faint light, I could see one of my fellow guards struggling with a shadowy assailant. Before I could hardly react, the thief, as I believed him to be, had broken free and was escaping into the jungle. I raised my rifle and was about to fire a fatal shot when the moon broke through the clouds. I nearly dropped my weapon when I thought I recognized the thief. I adjusted my aim and fired just as the figure disappeared.

Other guards finally arrived, too late of course, but I gave orders for a search and sent for the treasurer. The identity of the assailant was going to cause an uproar and I had a bad feeling about the whole situation. I left the scene by myself although I knew Gomez would want to hear my report. I knew where I could find the thief and wanted, for my own purposes, to confront him first.

I made my way to the Gamboa hacienda's slave quarters. I carefully pushed the door open. A figure was crouched in a corner, but in the dim light coming in I couldn't see who it was. I moved carefully and silently, at least silently to me, but before I had taken three steps the figure whirled and I saw the moonlight flash across the blade of a knife.

The shadowy form lunged toward me, the knife aimed at my heart. I dodged to the side and grasped my attacker's arm, trying to dislodge his weapon. But his desperation made him stronger than I and the blade was quickly pointed at me again. I was losing this struggle and in desperation called out, "José, stop! It's Mendoza!"

The force on the blade was suddenly gone and I fell foreword onto my knees.

"Mendoza?" a voice questioned from the dark. "Me disculpo, I didn't know it was you."

I looked at his bleeding arm and frightened face. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" he said warily, pulling away.

I pointed to his injury and asked incredulously, "I suppose that is just a mosquito bite?"

He laughed mirthlessly and gave up his deception, "A mosquito you fired."

"You're lucky I recognized you or even now you would be lying dead back at the treasury."

He winced. "Your aim is legendary," he replied.

"What were you doing?" I demanded angrily. "If you are caught, they will hang you."

"I had no choice," he said darkly.

"What do you mean, you had no choice?" I asked warily.

"Just what I said. Please don't ask me anymore." His desperation was visible on his face as he queried, "Are you going to take me back?"

"If I did that, I might as well shoot you here." I looked him in the eye. "I owe you my life. Is that anyway to repay my debt?" I asked with a harsh laugh. "But leave now and don't come back," I added seriously.

He looked at me, surprised and grateful. "Thank you," he said finally.

"No time for that. Just go."

José started to move past me. Moving quickly, I kicked his legs out from under him and he fell onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could move or react, I had my rifle pointed at his head. He looked up at me and I could see my betrayal in his eyes.

The door burst open behind me and the prone José. "Well done, Mendoza," a familiar voice said. "I see you have caught our thief."

Author's Notes

1) This creature is a guanaco, a kind of llama.

2) This scene that I have described here did happen, but not when or under the circumstances that I have created. It actually occurred during Velásquez's conquest of Cuba. A man named Hatuey, a Taíno chief, led the fight against the Spanish invaders. Hatuey's strategy against the Spaniards was to attack, guerilla fashion, and then disperse into the hills, where the Indians would regroup for the next attack. For about three months Hatuey's tactics kept the Spaniards on the defensive, afraid to leave their fort at Baracoa. But from the information given by a traitor, Velásquez was able to surround and capture Hatuey. On February 2, 1512 he was burned at the stake. The words spoken by my rebel leader were actually his.

History: It was very interesting and yet troubling to read about the early conquest period of the Caribbean islands, Cuba and Hispaniola. I originally thought I would try to send Mendoza to an area that would bring him in contact with Bartolome de las Casas, the famous early defender of native peoples rights. But it made things too clunky and ultimately I settled for Cuba because I wanted to create a prior knowledge of Hernán Cortés, particularly given the conquistador's importance in the sequel to this story. Unlike Cortés, Gamboa is a purely fictional character I made up to suit my plot.